Tooth

After his initial disapproval of my meeting any man with any intention under any circumstance, Dad gets on quite well with new boyfriend A. A is in his final few months of a PhD which Dad is finds impressive. He doesn’t discuss it much with A but I get the distinct impression that finally I have done something he can be proud of.

I have a week off my low grade and mentally unchallenging civil service job. Late the previous week, on the way home from work whilst eating a strawberry shoelace, I cracked a tooth. It was a bottom tooth. At the time, the sound of the tooth breaking reverberated around my skull and bothered me far more than the negligible pain. Since then, though, I had realised the tooth had split into two pieces, top to bottom, and that the outer half wiggled disturbingly.

I try to make an appointment with my dentist and am told that I have been struck off for cancellingtwo appointments with less than 24 hours notice. I attribute this to my line manager and grumble about it to new boyfriend A. A's flatmate's girlfriend, S, tells me that the same dentist did the same thing to her. I feel less targetted but realise I'm going to have to see the emergency dentist.

After making several phone calls they tell me to go for an appointment at a clinic which isn't on a bus route or within walking distance. I call Dad to ask him to drive me and look after J while I have my appointment.

The tooth has to come out. It is completely beyond repair but the extraction is not straightforward and I am in the chair for around 40 minutes. I am white when I go back into the waiting room. J is pushing a toy car around and Dad is reading an out of date women's magazine. I have a prescription for some extra strong Ibuprofen.

Dad does not take me home. I am supposed to be supervised for 24 hours. Instead we go to the new house, stopping at the village chemist to get the prescription filled. Dad sits in the car with J and I go in to the chemist. Due to the length of the extraction, the anasthetic has almost worn off and I feel as though I have been kicked in the face by a horse. The chemist is quite busy but my prescription will be ready in ten minutes. I sit on a standing stool and try not to cry.

Dad is tunelessly singing 'Wheels on the Bus' to J who has climbed into the front and is doing the actions without singing. I get in the back.

When we get to Dad's new house I take the Ibuprofen, my mouth filling with blood. I phone A and cry. He's coming to pick me up.

Dad puts me to bed in his room. I don't have a nap. It is curious that Dad is now using the lower half of the old bunk bed and his duvet cover of choice is my old Holly Hobby set.